


This Time Around

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Arthur returns to an unrecognisable world, and it's down to Merlin to persuade him that this time, they can live just for themselves. Kinda reincarnation fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Time Around

Jamie Owens is a nice lad in his late twenties. He lives in a studio apartment on the outskirts of Sheffield and works in computer programming. He has a few friends, but not close ones, likes to keep himself to himself. Sometimes he has these strange dreams, but doesn't everyone? He's just a normal bloke.

It's a hot day in early September, and the humid evening gives way to a vicious two hour thunderstorm. It should make it hard to sleep but Jamie closes his eyes against the lightning cracking the sky and dreams. He dreams of blond hair and blue eyes, a blazing sword laying waste to impossible monsters. He sees someone that looks like himself trying to staunch a gaping, gushing wound with his bare hands, hears himself sob and beg, _no, no_.

The grief fills the dream in waves and Jamie desperately wants to wake up, thinking to himself, incongruously, _I don't want to see this again_. But he can't open his eyes, can't look away from the man dying in his double's arms. And through it all there's a voice, one Jamie thinks he should know, a wonderful voice, the best voice in the world saying...saying...

 _Merlin, you utter prat._

***

Merlin wakes up in Jamie Owens's bed and says,

"Oh, fuck."

He tries to leap out of bed but crumples to his knees instead, his head aching, because suddenly he can remember _everything_. He remembers the renaissance, remembers seeing Shakespeare at the globe, the industrial revolution, the first man walking on the moon, remembers every time that awe for humanity has choked him. But he remembers it all through decades, centuries of loneliness, and he remembers the wars, all of the wars, crawling over the earth's surface, never ending and awful, awful, tides of blood and a million million million dead sons and daughters. Beloved lives, none of them more than a spark in the darkness.

But no, he thinks desperately through the pain that's threatening to split his head in two. There was one who was more than a spark, one who was a fire, burning bright and fierce. A fire that's just sprung back into life from an ember Merlin thought was long dead.

"Arthur," he whispers, and it feels so good just to say it, just to remember him. "Oh God, Arthur."

Merlin doesn't bother with packing anything, because he won't need any of this, any of Jamie Owens's life, where he's going. All he needs is the man who will be waiting for him. He knows now, just like he knows everything else (and who thought remembering centuries in an instant would actually _hurt_?), that he's been Jamie Owens, a nice bloke in his late twenties for almost fifty years. Before that he was David Parsons, and before that Joseph Blackwell. Aliases stretch back through history behind him, but in front there is only Arthur.

Merlin wonders if anyone else has noticed that the world has a different quality to it now. Arthur is back.

***

He drives without stopping to think. Near Birmingham the sky's getting light and he pulls into the first service station he sees. He waits long enough to drink a huge cup of coffee, and use the bathroom, and then heads for the car again. At the petrol station he fills the tank and buys crisps, sandwiches, a handful of chocolate bars, and a few bottles of water. Dumping them all onto the passenger seat, he wolfs down half a sandwich before he throws the car into gear and hits the road again.

After around eighty miles on the M5, Merlin laughs loud enough to drown out the radio, because he knows where he's heading now. The one place he's never lived in all his many travels that have taken him from Australia to Peru to Russia and back again. Modern day Cornwall. Home, or as close as he can get – he might only just have remembered, but he already knows the world has changed _so much_. He'd never be able to pinpoint Camelot on a map now, and the thought makes him sad. Everything is so different, now he remembers, now he knows.

Arthur, he thinks. That voice in his head. Arthur hasn't changed, he promises himself, nudging the car a little faster and turning the radio up, singing along to the Rolling Stones enthusiastically.

He's a bit worried that once he gets off the motorway, his unerring sense of where to go will desert him, but no. He flicks the indicators without thinking, drives left and then right, navigating through progressively smaller towns and villages until he finds himself driving alongside a field and thinks – _yes_. There's a little lay-by, just to allow two cars to pass on the narrow country lane, and Merlin parks up there. It's another warm day and his hands are damp with sweat.

He gets out of the car and squeezes through a gap in the hedgerow into the field. The harvest has been and gone, and the dry stems crunch under his feet as he starts walking, lead by the same inexorable call that has brought him the length of the country at barely legal speeds. About halfway up the field on the left stands a tall beech tree and there is someone – someone standing in the shadows. Someone in red.

Merlin wants to run but his feet will only stumble through the stalks as he thinks disconnected things like _please_ , and _destiny_ and _oh god, let it be_ , and _Arthur, love, please, darling_.

It's Arthur. It is. Merlin knows it before he gets with a hundred metres of him. He's facing the other way, but it's Arthur, it is, it _is_ , and Merlin opens his mouth to shout but all that comes out is a weak croaking noise. Arthur is still wearing the fine clothes Merlin dressed him in, and now he can remember doing that last service for his king, his tears flowing unchecked as an entire battlefield stood frozen in time about them.

Merlin approaches carefully, his heart fluttering wildly in his throat. This close he can see tension in Arthur's shoulders and back, the way his hands are clenched into tight fists at his side. Why won't he turn around? Is something wrong? _Oh god, don't let anything be wrong._ When Merlin's close enough to speak he has to wet his lips twice before anything will come out, and he has time to see Arthur take a shuddering breath.

"Arthur?"

Arthur turns so fast that Merlin doesn't have time to draw a breath before they collide and Arthur's grabbing him, squeezing him tight and Merlin can't breathe or think or do anything but clutch him blindly.

" _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin_ ," he says into Merlin's shoulder. "I didn't – didn't want to turn around, I thought – "

He feels wonderful. The same as he ever did, broad chest and strong arms and Merlin doesn't care that they're both shaking, drawing unsteady breaths that sound a bit like sobs. He doesn't know how long they stay like that, just holding each other. Eventually Arthur moves back and looks Merlin up and down.

"What on _earth_ are you wearing?"

Laughter bubbles up out of Merlin, slightly deranged, and he presses his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, clutches him tight.

***

Later that afternoon Merlin checks them into a hotel and leaves Arthur in the room while he goes for food. Arthur had looked horribly shocked when Merlin explained just how much time had passed since they were last together. Ever since, he's been silent and thoughtful so Merlin hurries back to the hotel as fast as he can, not sure how well Arthur's going to adjust.

He finds Arthur sitting bolt upright at the small desk in the room, looking every inch a king even though he's dressed in jogging bottoms and a hoodie (the only things Merlin had with a hope of fitting him).

"Ah, good," Arthur says, sniffing. "Food. Once we've eaten, you can take me to the king."

Merlin almost drops the two Burger King bags he's holding. "To the – what? Anyway, it's a queen."

"That's fine," Arthur says. "I'm sure she is more than capable of running Albion – "

"Britain," Merlin corrects automatically. "Or – well, the Commonwealth, I suppose, I'm not exactly sure – "

"What do you mean you're not _sure_?" Arthur demands.

Merlin drops the takeaway bags onto the desk in front of Arthur and sits down in the other chair. "Arthur, look. I couldn't – the world has changed, Sire."

Arthur frowns and lets Merlin push a paper cup of Fanta into his hand. "Changed how?"

Merlin opens his mouth and then closes it again, entirely unsure where to start. He divides up the food to give himself time to think and then kills a few more seconds watching Arthur tentatively try a chip. Arthur looks like he approves of the taste, and Merlin can't help smiling as he licks salt off his fingers.

"Changed how?" he prompts.

"Well," Merlin says. "The queen. She's more of a figurehead these days."

"A _figurehead_?" Arthur looks outraged at the very notion.

"Yes, it's – the parliament debate laws now, and people vote and – actually, I think you'd be quite interested, but..."

Arthur shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. "So who's in charge?"

"Well...the Prime Minister, I suppose," Merlin says. "Technically."

"Alright, then," Arthur says, looking like he's finding his feet again and unwrapping his burger, poking at it before taking a huge bite and muttering around a mouthful of burger, bun and onions, "You can take me to him."

Merlin rubs his hands over his face. "No. No, alright? That's not how it works. I can't just walk up to the Prime Minister and introduce you."

"Why not?"

"I – they don't just let people... I mean – Things are different now, Arthur. There are so many more people for one thing. We don't just get to wait for a petition day and see our leader."

"Even so," Arthur says. "You must be able to get into see him."

"What? Why would I – "

" _Merlin_! You're the most powerful sorcerer in the land, do you really mean to tell me you have completely abandoned the circles of power?"

Merlin frowns down at his food for a moment and then lifts his eyes to Arthur. " _You_ were my king. I never wished for another. I would never have served another."

"Merlin – "

"And anyway," Merlin interrupts. "Magic is...people don't really believe in it anymore."

Arthur snorts disbelievingly. "What, with you around?"

"I don't – it's complicated," Merlin says. "It's been so long, Arthur, and I – I forgot."

"You _forgot_ you have _magic_?"

"I forgot everything," Merlin tells him. "I forgot who I was. Arthur, it's been _centuries_. You – you don't know how lonely I was."

Arthur actually looks a little chastened at that and he reaches for Merlin's hand, squeezing his fingers.

"I've lived so many lives," Merlin says, turning his hand under Arthur's to hold it properly. "Over and over again, without you, and in the end it just – " He shrugs. "It just hurt less to forget, and to be...just a person. Just any old person."

"So...what, then?" Arthur asks, letting go of Merlin's hand to look down at his own. They still bear the calluses of sword practice, and he's wearing a ring forged hundreds of years ago. "What do we do?"

"Maybe it's our turn," Merlin says, and he slides out of his chair to kneel next to Arthur's, catching hold of his wrist and squeezing gently. "Maybe this time is just for us."

Arthur looks baffled at the very idea of a life lived to suit his own purposes, and Merlin bites his lip, hoping against hope. Because yes, he remembers the Arthur of old, leading armies and commanding respect from far and wide. He remembers the man that time has changed into a legend, remembers the land they built together and the heady sensation that there was nothing they couldn't achieve if they had each other. But he also remembers the moments they were able to steal, hidden in Arthur's rooms, or off in the woods around the citadel, when Merlin had been content to be just one man, loving another. He remembers bickering about who should start the fire, kissing just for the sake of it, sharing the fragments of a life they managed to carve out in the gaps between endless duties. And Merlin _wants_ that. He wants a whole _life_ like that.

Arthur's hand moves in Merlin's grasp and Merlin holds his breath while Arthur tangles their fingers together.

"Just for us," he says, like he's tasting the idea.

Merlin nods and Arthur's mouth curves into a smile as he lifts their hands, brushing his lips over the back of Merlin's knuckles.

"I think I could live with that," he says.


End file.
